


A Picture of the Past

by Gabbicav



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 15:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13344048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabbicav/pseuds/Gabbicav
Summary: Four years after the Oblivion Crisis; four years after she fled the Imperial City, determined to become the Hero of Kvatch that Cyrodiil needed her to be, Sarina Passero receives a visit from the Grandmaster of the Blades. Oneshot follow-up to "To the Last Septim" - and might not make much sense to anyone who hasn't read that.





	A Picture of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt this fic will make sense to anyone who hasn't read my Oblivion novelisation, To the Last Septim. For those of you who have - here's the oneshot I eluded to, all of those years ago, that offers a brief glimpse of where Sarina's life led her.

"Lady Passero," Jauffre dipped his head. His manner was still as officious as I remembered it being. "I'm heartened to find you looking so well."

I concealed my surprise with a hospitable smile. The old man never used to bow or flatter, or make idle chatter, yet here he was. Bowing, and chatting.

"That is kind of you to say, Grandmaster," I received him. "But – as you must be aware – I no longer go by that name," I indicated the tea. "Will you join me?"

"Thank you."

He crossed the room in three strides.

I observed him while he settled; his clenched fists, gnarled knuckles, and sun-weathered face. He wore his Blades armour, and I had to wonder if he had dusted it off for this occasion, or if he still insisted on wearing it every day. The steel panels had been rigorously polished, but the seams were held together by worn strips of leather, some of which were close to disintegrating. What remained of the hair either side of the bald patch was downy and white. Sat rigid with his hands on his knees, he formed a picture of the past; of ageing restraint. Was having no Septim to safeguard wasting him away? He had changed much in four years.

But then, hadn't we all?

Passing Jauffre his cup, I wished he would break our silence. He accepted the white porcelain mutely, his eyes thoughtful as they briefly searched mine.

Determined to remain serene in my own home, I lifted my cup to my lips as I watched him. I was not going to apologise or pretend I hadn't left the White-Gold Tower. In my heart, I knew that I had made the right choice.

"Seeing you there reminds me of my last day in the Imperial City," I told him. "Do you remember?" I smiled. "We took tea together then, too."

A furrow marred Jauffre's brow, then a half-grimace tugged at the corner of his lips as he spoke through a mouthful of regret. "As though it were yesterday, my Lady."

"Please, Jauffre, after all that has passed – you still won't call me Sarina?"

He shook his head uncomfortably, as though he had water in his ear. "That wouldn't be...appropriate, would it?"

"Since _when_ ," I cast him a doubtful look, amused, "has _Jauffre_ cared about what is appropriate?"

His response was dry. "Completing one's purpose puts the civilities of life into perspective."

Was he was being _ironic_? "As does becoming a mother," I glanced away. If he would not tell me why he had come, I would not draw it from him.

"Indeed," Jauffre conceded. "Are the twins well?" he inquired.

My gaze was already on the white curtains separating the tea room from the balcony. I listened, and could make out the sound of Caroline's little voice, though couldn't discern what she was saying. My husband's low, patient tones as he replied to her drifted to me next.

Despite all that Jauffre's appearance threatened to invoke, I smiled fondly.

Replacing my teacup, I rose, motioning toward the curtains swaying in the breeze. "You might see for yourself. They are with their father. Shall we?" I met his flat stare with a steadiness of heart and eye I could only attribute to a mother's defence. "I am certain they would like to meet you. You feature frequently in our stories."

There was no masking the brief flash of frustration in his eyes. Perhaps he expected me to deny their existence, or refuse to let him meet them – perhaps he even wanted this, so he would have a fresh reason to be angry with me. Were he not trying so hard to be _appropriate_ , I imagined that Jauffre might have replied with a curt remark about the games we nobles played, and how he was too old to take any part in them.

But I wasn't playing a game.

He stood, idly placing his cup down. His words surprised me for the gravity behind them; "I would be honoured."

"This way, please."

I glided to the archway, parting the curtains to reveal the sunlit balcony, and my family.

Caroline sat with Ilend at the table. My muddy-haired daughter was busy drawing with the ex-Kvatch soldier and didn't notice our arrival. Half-underneath Ilend's chair, Dante lay on his belly, moving his wooden horses along the lines between the slate tiles with his eyes fixed on their movements.

But then Dante glanced up, then scrambled up, almost braining himself on the underside of the chair. Barreling across the balcony, he grasped my hand.

"Mama, come play horses?" he asked hopefully.

"Soon," I knelt, detangling my fingers from his tiny, firm grasp to place a hand on his shoulder and brush his hair out of his eyes with my other. "First, we have a visitor."

Dante looked beyond me, and up; his large, moss-green eyes wide as he regarded the Grandmaster.

For a heart beat, I panicked, wondering if I should have instructed Jauffre to tread gently. Jauffre was an imposing figure at the best of times, and the twins were still very young and sensitive.

My son giggled shyly.

I glanced over my shoulder. Jauffre was making a silly face behind my back. Sighting my notice, he dropped the expression and shuffled innocently.

I arched an eyebrow. Dante laughed again and caught the attentions of Caroline and Ilend at the far table.

"Who's _that_?" Caroline called, loud enough for the neighbourhood to hear.

"Hush, Callie," Ilend urged in his rumble. "Inside voice," he rose, lifting my ( _our_ , I reminded myself) daughter into his arms.

"But we _are_ outside," she countered matter-of-factly.

This time it was Jauffre who chuckled.

The sound made me start, and belatedly I recalled that the Grandmaster had known Martin for his entire childhood. Another spike of fear pierced me; he _would_ recognise Martin in the children, despite our hasty precautions.

_So? Tamriel no longer needs the Septims, or you. You have made sure of it._

Nevertheless, the uncertainty within me persisted. Subdued, I stood, lifting Dante onto my hip; a comfort for us both. Ilend settled beside me, my ( _our!_ ) daughter in one arm, resting his other around my shoulder casually.

"Danny, Callie – this is Grandmaster Jauffre," I introduced, eyeing him suspiciously. "Say hello."

Dante said nothing and his grip on my shoulder strengthened. When Jauffre smiled there were no more giggles; he remained silent and pressed closer to me.

Jauffre inclined his head to my daughter next.

Caroline spoke at once. "Joff-ray?" she looked to Ilend. "Like from the story?"

"The very same," Ilend concurred. "Welcome to Kvatch, Grandmaster."

"Ilend Vonius, at last," Jauffre mused, tilting his head toward the ex-soldier. "I often heard your name mentioned during the..." he hesitated, flicking me a cautious glance.

"It's okay. We can talk about it," I supplied cooly. As I spoke, Dante buried his face into my neck.

Caroline added knowingly, "It's how mama and papa met."

"Yes," Jauffre agreed flatly. "Were it not for your mother and father, Kvatch wouldn't be standing today."

"They're heroes," Caroline told him proudly, wriggling so Ilend would let her down.

He did, and she shifted to my side, grasping my leg but still addressing Jauffre. "Why is Danny scared of you?"

"Caroline," I shushed, resting a hand on her head briefly; an attempt to reign her insatiable curiosity back, at least for now.

Jauffre eyed her shrewdly. "Does he fear me? Perhaps your brother is merely wary of people he has never met?"

My daughter turned up to me as though I could explain his response. I smiled secretively and waited for her to come to her own conclusion.

Her brows crossed as her focus shifted to her shy twin, then back to Jauffre.

" _I'm_ not afraid of you," she announced pointedly.

Jauffre crouched to my daughter, smiling. "I am pleased to hear it, Caroline. I have longed to meet you both, since the moment of your births. I knew the astonishing woman who you were named after, very well."

"Then why not visit sooner?" I asked swiftly; _too_ swiftly.

Caroline smiled broadly. "She was a hero, too," she spoke her mind, undeterred by my interjection.

Jauffre rose. The sparkle in his eyes dimmed. "Because I feared who I might meet."

"And...you no longer do?" Ilend supplied in a low, genial rumble.

"My personal feelings have become irrelevant," the Grandmaster's eyes flickered to my husband. "There are situations arising within the City and beyond that I can no longer ignore," he glanced down; placed a hand on Caroline's head gently. "And I felt that, perhaps in bringing this information to you, I might not be denied. Thank you," he added, his eyes still on my daughter.

She screwed up her nose. "You're most welcome," she replied.

Ilend laughed, squeezing my shoulder as he did. Duly prompted to relax, I smiled at Caroline, and felt Dante reinforce his vice-like grip on my arm.

"It's all right, Danny," I eased. "Jauffre is a friend," I reminded quietly.

"But, mama," he whispered, somewhat urgently.

"Can you draw frogs?" Caroline asked Jauffre, offering him her hand.

"I – ah," Jauffre glanced at me.

"Perhaps later, Callie," I shot Ilend a look, hoping he would take control. The question of leadership aside; I did not want to give Jauffre a chance to fill my children's heads with his dogma, if that was why he had come.

_Though he makes it sound as though he has come to warn you._

Ilend took the hint. "Jauffre needs to speak with mama," he took Caroline's hand, guiding her toward the table.

Jauffre watched them go. "Perhaps another time," he called after her regretfully.

I pursed my lips and adjusted Dante on my hip. "Danny, want to go with papa?"

Dante shook his head, burrowing earnestly into my neck.

Jauffre frowned. I ignored him, patting my son's back and crooning softly, "Darling boy, what is the matter?"

My son whimpered.

"Come on, Danny," I tried. "Use your words, sweetheart."

His reply was a stubborn shake of his head.

"Hey, Danny," Ilend had returned and reached for him. "Can you help with my drawing?"

Dante looked up to Ilend, but remained silent. Dante liked being helpful. He took a little more coaxing to go to Ilend, and required a promise that _I_ would return; his wide, serious eyes fixed on Jauffre as he said it.

Jauffre's mouth formed a straight line. He nodded once, his face and tone serious as he confirmed; "I will not take her from you."

After Danny had settled with his sister and Ilend, I stepped past the Grandmaster and swept the curtains aside, ruffled by my son's reaction to him, for of course I had feared in part that Jauffre had appeared to try take _them_. "Come. The tea is getting cold."

Wordlessly, Jauffre followed. We sat and for a time resumed drinking the tea. Eventually, the Grandmaster eased back.

"Sarina, they are beautiful," Jauffre began wearily.

"They are," I agreed.

"Dante seems quite...thoughtful."

"Yes, he is."

"He reminds me more of Martin than you could possibly understand."

"Does he?" I sighed, meeting him with a look that dared him to accuse me.

He didn't. Instead, the old man seemed to deflate. "We would have protected you with our lives. _All_ of you."

I paused, fixing him with a stoic expression before I replied quietly, firmly: "We are quite safe here."

While he grimaced, Jauffre accepted this with a nod.

His acknowledgement brought swift, warm tears to my eyes. Of _course_ he knew that Danny and Callie were Martin's children – he knew, and it didn't matter. The knot of anxiety I had carried with me for almost four years unravelled, overwhelming me with relief.

"Jauffre – why _are_ you here?" I asked, blinking back my tears and clearing my throat of the lump that had risen. "By all accounts, Ocato and the Elder Council are managing adequately without an Emperor, for the time being. The people of Tamriel have moved on, and the Septims will be remembered by history books and bard's tales," I surmised with a small shiver.

The air of defeat about him persisted. "You are ever the enigma, Lady Passero," he mulled, and this time I felt that he had merely forgotten that I now went by Ilend's name. Caroline and Dante would inherit my title and surname when they turned eighteen, if they wished, but I would spend the rest of my days as Sarina Vonius. We had thought it best, to further distance us from the Oblivion Crisis.

"You might have ruled Tamriel until they came of age," he continued with a vague wave of his hand and a shrug. "Benevolently guided us through the harrowing changes wrought by Camoran and Dagon," he chewed, clearly dissatisfied by his words, or perhaps the merest recollection of those dark days.

I glanced away and down, staring into but not really seeing my half-full tea cup. Jauffre was not serious; it had never been my place to rule, and he would never have been satisfied with my brand of guidance. Perhaps he would have put up with me if it meant he could raise the children to be Tamriel's _proper_ leaders some day. Given the state in which I had left the White-Gold Tower, I was surprised Jauffre hadn't come after me, or at least sent one of the other Blades for me sooner.

I had remained in the Imperial City for as long as I dared, letting others clean up the mess we had made when Martin and I saved the world. While grieving Martin and Caroline's loss, fending off Jauffre's suspicions and ignoring the concerned looks from the other Blades and Ocato, I had come to discover that the brief, private moments Martin and I had shared were chronicled in Jauffre's reports. And so neither the aftermath of the Oblivion Crisis nor the question of who would rule Tamriel had pushed me away; rather, Jauffre's enquiries regarding whether I was carrying Martin's child. A child to end the leadership debacle; a child for the Blades to rally behind, and a child who would some day, preside over all, if only I would confirm her existence.

When letters from all over Cyrodiil found their way to me – pleading for the assistance of the valiant Hero of Kvatch – I absconded, despite the pregnancy that I was still managing to hide. For five months I called no place home and rode Tor from city to city, helping others to rebuild their lives wherever I could.

The pregnancy had taken its toll on me sooner than I had thought it might – not that I could have expected anything, having never experienced the strain of housing and growing what I had assumed at the time was a single child inside of me. After I nearly toppled from Tor's back one morning; the fault of nothing but my sudden instability, I had decided while my heart hammered fearfully in my ears wondering how close I had come to losing our child, that it was time to stop.

However I had no intention of letting the Hero of Kvatch fade into obscurity. For the months while I had been alone with only my thoughts, my horse, and my expanding belly for company, I had seen and done much I would never have dreamed of doing in my former, exceedingly privileged life. I had realised that the Hero was more to Cyrodiil than I could ever be. She had become more than one woman; she was an idea, a symbol of hope. She might always be needed in some capacity – and was far more important and influential than Sarina Passero, the noble girl twice betrothed to two different Septim men, ever was.

And so I had found a suitable replacement to take over from me; a young woman named Sibylla, who wished for nothing more than to disappear. She did not care to tell me the details of her circumstances, and frankly, I did not want to know. We appreciated each other's discretion. I had given her all of my signature armour and weapons; even the beautiful ebony bow that Ebel had gifted me, for it was widely known to be the weapon of choice of the Hero of Kvatch.

I had kept only Caroline's small dagger for myself; the very blade that had pierced the heart of Mankar Camoran. I had handed over my satchel of letters and a considerable sum of gold so that Sibylla could live comfortably, wherever she chose to set up her new home. I had even helped her to choose a horse; one of Cheydinhal's infamously fast stallions. He was like enough Tor that, if she wore a helm, only those who knew me personally might realise that she was not me, and over time, her deeds would overtake mine anyway. The Hero of Kvatch would continue on, and forge a new destiny for herself.

Sibylla had ridden off with a courageous gleam in her eyes and arrogant triumph thick in her farewells, and I had watched her go, feeling utterly wretched. I was saying good bye to a part of myself that was precious that I knew I would never regain. My stomach had twisted into knots of uncertainty, both over what I had let go, and the journey I was about to embark on.

All I was certain of was that my priorities had to change, whether I was at peace with the decision or not. For Martin, and for our child (or, _children_ , as turned out to be the case), I would give up anything. Everything.

Once Sibylla had disappeared from view, I had gingerly mounted Tor, dressed in pleasantly loose, common garments for the first time in a long time, and ridden in the opposite direction to my counterpart.

My horse had seemed pacified by my decision to quit adventuring, though I might have merely been imagining things. I must have subconsciously made the decision to return, but it seemed as though Tor steadily led me back to Kvatch of his own volition. Kvatch, where I had found Martin, unaware that I would fall in love.

And now, years later, I lived comfortably with my little family in a modest apartment built on the ashes of the old city, and considered Kvatch to be my home. I doubted that I would ever feel at peace over what had happened during those terrifying few months of my life, but it could not stop me from living and loving, and finding joy in what my life was today.

Glancing up under my lashes, I smiled patiently at Jauffre. "We cannot change the past," I reminded him softly.

He nodded while frowning; a face of displeasure, and as he shuffled in his seat he seemed to regain some vigour. "Indeed we cannot. We must merely learn to live with the consequences of our decisions," his eyes begrudged me. "You might not have heard, but we have already lost the Black Marsh, and the Altmer grow restless, roused by the damned _Thalmor_ , if you can believe it-" he spat.

"You _still_ insist on distrusting any who are not Blades?" I queried wearily. Is _this_ why he had come? To moan about the citizens of Tamriel taking back their homelands? How else were they to recover, when the Imperial Legion was stretched so thin and unable to provide adequate coverage?

Jauffre shook his head. "My latest intelligence suggests that the Thalmor mean to push the whole of the Summerset Isles into waging war on us. Perhaps not at once, but these are whisperings that cannot be ignored given their fanatical mandate," he lifted his eyes to me; the stern gleam returned. " _When_ that time comes – the Blades will do what we can to warn you and misdirect them – but you _must_ disappear with the twins," he squared me with a hard expression. "Take them out of Cyrodiil, and keep running. Tell _no one_ where you are going."

"Jauffre," I laughed, but it was weakened by uncertainty. I had to admit that I was a little put off by his vehemence. "You cannot be serious. The Crisis is barely over. Nobody is in a position to wage war on anybody."

"I wish that was true," he grumbled, then sat back, shaking his head as he regarded the lazily wafting curtains that led to the balcony. For a moment, he merely stared at the material and his mind seemed far, far away.

"I am tired, my Lady," he admitted finally. "Tired of this endless... _struggle._ No matter how we endeavour to draw events to a workable resolution, every action results in more loss. The dissent amongst the provinces," he winced glancing back to me. "It is real, no matter how the Elder Council and citizens of Cyrodiil wish to bury it. It is continually building. And," he continued swiftly, and a little quieter, until his voice was a mere hiss of what it had been, "I fear that despite your good intentions; by denying those children, you have determined _much_ more than your own fates."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Jauffre's dramatics. Of course, he was here to blame me. I had known that was why he had really come.

 _It's not why he's here,_ I berated myself sternly. _You are the one who is looking for a fight. He is being as polite as he knows how to be._

Perhaps. But I was not going to be baited into arguing with him. By way of response I merely sighed, and turned my attention to the balcony as the curtains rustled. In part, I had to admit that I did regret excluding the Blades, particularly Jauffre and Baurus, from the lives of my children. Had Caroline lived through the ordeal, I would never have gone – but then, Dante and Caroline would be the puppets of the Elder Council. If I could only be confident that he would not try to undermine my wishes to keep them out of the mess of politics back in the Imperial City even now, I might have asked Jauffre to stay with us a while, so that Martin's children might bring him a few days comfort, for their bright souls and willing joy could not fail to lift a person's spirits.

But no. There was no going back. There was simply no point in reviving contact with Jauffre and his order. I would give him today to confirm for himself that Dante and Caroline were happy and healthy, and living their childhoods blissfully free thanks to their father's sacrifice, and then he would leave, and we would continue on as we had before he had arrived. We could not change the past.

_This is not about the past. You are living in the past if you so readily judge people by it._

When the white drapes parted again, I spied my son peeking through the gap at us.

_Watch Jauffre today with them, and make your decision then._

Our eyes met, and from across the room I could see that his Alteration spell had already worn off; the orbs were once again their painfully brilliant, natural blue. Dante was still learning, and we had asked him to cast the spell on himself and his sister hastily when Jauffre's approach had been announced.

It wasn't as though he needed to maintain it now. Jauffre knew the truth, and by his manner, I could assume that he was not going to expose us, or force me to bring the children forward. In fact; it sounded as though he wished for us to go into hiding.

Jauffre's warning, or accusation if that's what it was, sparked a flicker of doubt within me as I regarded Dante. Was this what Martin would have wanted for us, and for them? _Was_ I doing right by my children - and had the Hero of Kvatch done right by her people? Was it selfish of me to obscure them? Would _they_ despise me for denying their birthright, some day? And was I unwittingly making the future more difficult – for everybody?

_The fate of the world does not rest on your shoulders._

My son smiled at me cheekily, and hope swelled in my chest.

 _Well. At least, not any more,_ I my inner-voice added, as I returned Dante's smile. I would answer for the decisions I had made when it was time to do so, and not a moment sooner.

I stood, beckoning to him. "Dante?"

He glanced at Jauffre briefly before hurrying into the room and grasping my hand. "Play horses _now_? _Please_ , mama?"

"Why not?" I laughed as he towed me toward the balcony. Everything, every _one_ else could wait.

Over my shoulder, I called cheerfully to Jauffre: "Are you with us, Grandmaster?"

His slightly subdued, gruff response came after a pause.

"I suppose I could spare a minute or two. I am rather an expert at drawing frogs."

**Author's Note:**

> A Bard's Tale is coming to a point where I must clarify the Passero family tree, so I wrote the short that I mentioned I might do when I first finished To the Last Septim all those years ago. I found it absurdly easy to step back into Sarina's life, but am actually ridiculously nervous about posting this. In part I'm doing it because once it's online and others have read it, I can't change my mind, but a far larger part of me is posting it because of the follow-up questions and support that I've received from those who've finished TTLS (and who are reading ABT as Celeste's journey unfolds). So, thank you again for your continuing support, and I hope that this brief snapshot of Sarina's life felt truthful to her character.


End file.
